


Hope

by galaxystiel



Series: 100 Ways To Say 'I Love You' [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Human, FBI Agent Castiel, M/M, Making Up, Minor Character Death, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystiel/pseuds/galaxystiel
Summary: It was an utter lack of hope that made Castiel Novak end his relationship with his alcoholic fiancé, Dean Winchester, fourteen months ago.





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> **#64** "It's two sugars, right?" of [100 Ways To Say 'I Love You'](http://blueeyedangel.co.vu/100ways)
> 
> Inspired by [Don't Let Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209954) by hollyblue2/envydean, who did an amazing job with alcoholic!Dean.

 

**Art by the amazing and talented[sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com)**

Castiel sat bolt upright, his heart thudding in his chest. His hand twitched but he didn’t reach for the gun on his nightstand just yet, taking stock of the situation. What had woken him? His bleary eyes struggled to focus in the dark, the fuzzy red display of his alarm clock informing him that it was coming up to 2am.

_ Bang. Bang. Bang. _

Instantly alert, he snatched up his gun and slid out of bed in a single smooth motion. Shirtless and barefoot, wearing only the ratty pair of pyjama pants he slept in, Castiel made his way down the stairs in the dark. He knew this house backwards: how to traverse it in the dark, knew to miss out the third stair from the bottom as it creaked loudly. The weight of the familiar Glock in his hand was a comfort to him, his FBI-issued service weapon giving him a sense of security at the unknown noise in the middle of the night.

Castiel longed to switch the light on so he could see exactly where the disturbance was coming from, but he currently had the advantage and he wouldn’t give that up so easily. Inching along the hallway, his eyes focused on the only fraction of light he could see – the porch light. He moved closer, keeping his shoulder pressed to the wall, his breath hitching when the loud bangs started up again. Now more awake, Castiel could identify them for what they were.

Someone was knocking at the door.

“Who is it?” Castiel called out sharply, keeping a safe distance from the door.

Silence.

“I’m armed.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “And you’re on private property.”

“It’s me, Cas.” A weary voice called back. “It’s just me.”

Castiel paused for a long moment, before lowering the weapon, stuffing it in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. He set about undoing the locks, fingers fumbling with the chain. He opened the door just a crack, just for his own peace of mind, opening it wider when he was satisfied that nobody else was there.

“What are you doing here, Dean? It’s two o’clock in the morning and I have a teleconference with Quantico in the morning.”

It took Dean a few seconds to look up, but when he did, Castiel took a half-step backwards. He looked terrible, pale, sweaty and was sporting black circles around manic, haunted eyes. A far cry from the handsome, healthy man that Castiel had met and fallen in love with five years ago. Still, that was what an unhealthy addiction did to a man, and Castiel wasn’t surprised so much as he was disappointed that Dean had fallen back into the habit of using a bottle of liquor as a crutch.

“I needed to see you.” Dean rasped.

Castiel pursed his lips. After their break up, he’d asked Dean not to come here anymore, it was too painful to see him falling apart at the seams. They’d been through all of it together, from slowly recognising the way Dean was drinking more and more and losing grip on reality, to sobriety and AA meetings and relapses.

Castiel had been there for all of it.

Until the last relapse, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He’d called their situation hopeless and asked Dean to move out until he’d reached a whole year of sobriety.

After around fourteen months with very little contact between them, Castiel had hoped Dean was finally on his way to a healthy place. Clearly he’d been wrong to think there was ever hope for them.

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’ll call you a cab. Please don’t drive home. Good night, Dean.” Castiel stepped back into the doorway and began to close it behind him.

“Castiel.”

The word made Castiel hesitate. He could hear the pain in every syllable, could feel it wash over him like it was his own agony. More than that, he could hear the steadiness in his voice along with the wavering strength. Dean wasn’t drunk.

He turned.

“Mom died.” Dean’s voice cracked and he looked so lost, so forlorn that Castiel felt his heart break. Mary was dead?

Stepping outside, Castiel grasped Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to provide comfort when words were meaningless. They wouldn’t bring her back and they probably wouldn’t even begin to oothe Dean’s pain.

“Come in,” he murmured, guiding Dean inside and leading him to the couch, turning on the lamp as he passed. Dean followed with no resistance, dropping onto the couch like a stone when Castiel released him. He didn’t have the strength to even stand. His hands were shaking, trembling even as he balled them into fists on his knees. As he looked Dean over, Castiel spotted even more concerning issues. Dean wasn’t even wearing a jacket and it was freezing outside. What’s more, there were no bulges in his jeans betraying the sign of car keys. Had he walked here?

“I’ll make you some tea.” Castiel told him gently. “It’s two sugars, right?”

Dean gave a distracted nod, his eyes boring holes into the carpet. Reluctant to leave him alone, Castiel hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, before ducking into the kitchen. He filled the kettle and waited for it to boil, chewing on his lip. After a moment, he opened his cupboards, pulling out the few bottles of whisky he had in there, lamenting their loss as he emptied them down the sink.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Dean, per se. It was just better to be safe than sorry when there was an alcoholic in the house.

His pack of beer went the same way, the glass bottles set quietly in the recycling so as not to inform Dean what he was doing. But when Castiel straightened up, he found Dean standing in the doorway, holding out a half-drunk bottle of beer. Panic flooded through Castiel for an instant, until he recognised it as his own from dinner. It had been on the table in the living room.

Reaching out, he took the bottle hesitantly from Dean, who relinquished it without hesitation. “It’s okay, Cas,” Dean muttered. “You don’t have to look so guilty about helping me. Honestly, I think it’s a good idea. It’s why I’m here. Sam can’t get here until tomorrow at the earliest and I – it would be too easy to get drunk right now.”

Castiel felt something akin to disappointment tighten in his chest that he tried desperately to quash. “So you’re here because you knew I wouldn’t let you drink?”

Dean shook his head, and his eyes were strangely intense as they met Castiel’s. “I’m here because I knew being with you would stop me from wanting to.”

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat and he averted his gaze to the floor. He’d done this dance too much with Dean. A month of sobriety followed by a few months of drinking himself into a stupor. He couldn’t do this again, and it absolutely wasn’t the right time. He’d made it clear that there would be nothing between them again, at least until Dean made it to twelve months of sobriety. If he was honest, he never expected Dean to make it.

The sound of the kettle clicking itself off saved him from having to answer and he poured them both a cup of tea. The cup was hot as he picked up, reaching out to hand it to Dean, who wrapped his hands around Castiel’s.

“She loved you, you know. Sometimes more than me, I think. It broke her heart when I moved back home.”

Guilt and resentment tore through him. Castiel was about to tug his hands free when Dean released him and took the cup.

“What happened? How did she – I mean – she was so –”

“Cancer,” Dean whispered, hoarsely, and when Castiel glanced up he saw tears in his eyes. “She’d known for a while. Sammy and I didn’t know anything until a couple of weeks ago. She went in her sleep a couple of hours ago. I went out for a walk and before I knew it I was here. I didn’t mean to put all of this on you.”

Castiel softened and took a sip of his tea to steady himself. “I loved her too. She was more of a mom to me than Naomi ever was. I’m sorry that I didn’t know and that I couldn’t say goodbye to her. She was an incredible woman and she’ll be missed. I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’m glad you came to me.”

The tears spilled from Dean’s eyes and Castiel watched as he swiped at them furiously with his sleeve, but more kept coming. Setting down his own cup, Castiel tugged Dean’s free and wrapped him up in a hug. He felt Dean buckle at the gentle embrace and then Dean was clinging to him, broken sobs muffled against his neck.

Castiel felt tears sting his own eyes and he gently brushed his fingers through Dean’s hair. He stood for a long time, feeling guilt over how wonderful it was to have Dean back in his arms again. Remembering how much he’d loved him and still missed him every day. Burying all of that, he wished he could take away Dean’s pain and hated how powerless he was outside of the minor comfort his touch offered.

When Dean’s hands eventually slipped away, Castiel could read the exhaustion in his face. He stepped back and guided him back to the living room. “Sleep,” he murmured, gesturing to the comfortable couch. “I’ll bring you a blanket. I’ll be right upstairs if you need me, but you need to rest. The next few days are gonna be rough, and I’m gonna be right there to help you, but you need to be strong. For Sam, right?” Castiel used his trump card, knowing how protective Dean was over his little brother.

Dean managed a nod and sat down, untying his bootlaces. When Castiel came back with the bedding, he found Dean already settled, sprawled out on the couch. He tenderly lay the blanket over him, tucking in the corners and making sure he wouldn’t get cold.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he whispered, kissing his fingertips and touching them to Dean’s forehead in a gesture of affection. Straightening up, Castiel cast his gaze around the room absently, his attention catching on a glint of bronze on the coffee table. Curiously, he stepped forward, picking up the small coin.

_ To thine own self be true. _

_ 1 Year Recovery. _

Castiel lowered his hand and set the coin back down, a flood of various emotions overwhelming him. Guilt, longing, pride, relief, each emotion was sending him reeling.

He inhaled deeply and turned to find Dean staring at him. For once, words failed Castiel as he stared at the love of his life, close enough to touch, and yet for the life of him he couldn't think of the right thing to say.

"You think losing you wasn't the kick in the pants I needed? Mom told me the only way I was ever gonna get you back was to become sober and stay that way. I know you probably didn't mean it when you said one year and we'd talk. But I had to hope, Cas, and I did it for you. For us. But also kinda for me." Dean swallowed and sat up. "Every day for a year I thought about the way you looked at me when you asked me to move out. You looked at me like you didn't know who I was. And I don't wanna be someone you don't recognise."

Castiel looked back down at the coin and closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure how to describe the tightness in his chest, but it was unimagineable, to hear the words he’d longed to for so long.

"I missed you," he whispered. "Every day. I missed you and I hoped you'd come back to me. But every day it was like you pulled further and further away. I never wanted you to go. I never wanted to lose you. But I couldn't do it anymore. You didn't want to change. You didn't want to get better."

Dean averted his eyes in shame. "I know, Cas. I was in denial. I thought I could handle it. It took losing you for me to realise that I had no idea how bad things were for you. And if I didn't know that, maybe I didn't understand how bad things were for me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I feel like crap for focusing on this when my mom just died, it’s just… I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Castiel didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Hope lit up in Dean’s eyes as his chin slowly lifted. “Yeah?”

Castiel stepped forward and leaned down to kiss him sweetly, just a chaste brush of the lips in lieu of a promise. “Yeah,” he murmured. He would.

After all, Dean had made it.

Maybe they both could, given a little time.

Maybe there was hope for them after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [MY TUMBLR](http://blueeyedangel.co.vu)


End file.
